


Opprinnelig Engel

by HeartbeatsAreMySymphony



Category: SKAM (TV), The OA (TV)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Bipolar Disorder, Blind Character, Even Centric, M/M, Out of Body Experiences, Parallel Universes, The OA - Freeform, They're slightly out of character, some more than others
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-03-20
Packaged: 2018-09-27 01:09:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9943619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeartbeatsAreMySymphony/pseuds/HeartbeatsAreMySymphony
Summary: "We kept each other alive... we shared a bed... and in all that time, we never, not once... touched."Or, in this universe, Even and Isak are angels, and trying to find their way back to each other.(Also known as The OA AU nobody asked for.)[ON HIATUS]





	1. Little people, little world

**Author's Note:**

> So, I fell in love with The OA, recently, and couldn't not make an Evak AU. Please excuse any mistakes, and comment if you find any. Also, due to the plot, Even will at times be called 'OA'. Because of the characters I chose, I have taken liberties with them, and am developing some which we have not seen a lot of (such as Sonja and Emma) as 'out of character', so, apologies if that bothers you. Spoilers up ahead, so, be warned. Lastly, if you enjoyed reading, please, leave Kudos! 
> 
> -M. L.

 

S E A S O N **I**

 

 **I** t begins they way all great stories begin.

 

 

The sun was beating down hotly on the people of Michigan. It was an ordinary day, as days tended to be. Little people would drive their little cars on little roads and little highways. They would work their little jobs, then return to their little homes to their little families. All was well in the world. Except, it wasn’t. It never really is, after all– there are people dying of disease, or, starving to death. But in America, the little people live in their little, individualistic worlds, stubbornly ignoring the other worlds around them, and forgetting that the universe is not made up of little clusters of little, individual, lonely worlds, but of one collective whole with many layers. But, for a few of the citizens of St. Lewis, and later on, much of the nation, their little, individual worlds are about to be flipped upside down, then, spun in a circle until they are teetering on the edge of sanity.

He runs. He runs as though his life depends on it. His feet are aching, more than they ever have before. His hands, dirtied and rough, secret stories written across the lines of his palms. His face. Oh, his face. It is truly a sight to behold. Beneath the grime, beneath the pain and the fear, is the face of a demi-god. It is soft, yet hard and defined, and his eyes are such a shade of blues, that they can be described as nothing, except for a reflection of all the good of the Earth. And he runs. He runs as fast as his feet will carry him, and then, faster. Until soon, he has crossed the busy street of the busy bridge, and is climbing over the railing. There are yells. They come from all directions, but he can not hear them. All he can hear is the rhythmic pounding of his heart in his ears, which is so familiar, and so much like that of _his_ , yet completely different. Heartbeats, after all, are more unique than even fingerprints. He wastes no time. He doesn’t even look down when he lets go, and is soon plunged into the depths of ice and volume.

When he comes to, it is in a bed. The bed is hard, not unlike the one he’d experienced for seven years, and, at first, fear bubbles within his gut, and anxiety ripples across his skin. _I’m back!_ _How is this possible?_ But before he can further contemplate, his eyelids have fluttered open, and his brain has processed the data they collected. The room is clinically pale, but there is light. Not just light. _Sunlight_. He laughs, hollowly, because, how long has it been since he had seen, _felt_ , **_sunlight_**? His head hurts, and his feet more, so he is unable to bask in the sun’s warmth, as he is taken by sleep after no more than a couple of seconds. The world around his falls to darkness, and he is gone.

The second time he awakens, it is to the gentle voice of a woman. It’s soothing. He cracks an eye open, the other soon following suit, and again, there is sunlight: a welcome gift he will never again take for granted. The nurse smiles sweetly, yet, the gesture doesn’t set his mind at ease. His thoughts are racing, buzzing like bees in a queenless hive.

“Please,” he hears her plead. “What’s your name?”

The silence should be deafening, and it is, until he speaks.

The nurse has sighed, and turned on her heel, ready to leave and try again tomorrow, attempting sourly and poorly to keep a brave face and optimistic attitude.

“I’m The OA.”

 

 

In Abrahm, a small town far, yet not too far, from St. Lewis, sit a nice, older couple. Their hands are clasped together, as though they are praying. And, perhaps, they are. The old television set, which is in their living room, is on, a clip is being replayed of the incident at the bridge, and then, a photo of the young John Doe is blown up. Nancy Johnson is crying, soft tears rolling down her wrinkled face. Next to her, Abel Johnson’s eyes are wide as saucers. No, wider. Together, they sit side by side, looking on in awe and disbelief. After all these years, they had finally found their son.  

The roadtrip they immediately embark on is filled to the brim with emotions, bubbling over like a witch's cauldron. All the way, Nancy can’t stop crying, wiping her button nose with napkins until it’s red raw. Abel, on the other hand, has become like stone. He is driving, after all, and for the safety of his wife, he can not afford a breakdown at this moment in time. Yet, as the road to St. Lewis grows shorter, the rushing feeling in the pit of his stomach only seems to grow.

They’ve now arrived to the striking, créme building, and Abel must take a moment to catch his heart before it runs away from him. Next to him, Nancy has composed herself, and is now reapplying her minimalistic makeup of mascara, eyeshadow, BB cream, blush, and, of course, lipstick. When finished, she doesn’t look much different than she did in the wee hours of morn: the heavy bags beneath her eyes are just as prominent as they have been for the last seven years, and her bloodshot eyes are undisguisable. The pair ease out of the old, failing vehicle (since their son went missing, all their money and savings had been poured into finding him, pushing back other simple necessities), and gripping each other's hands, they take the first step to the rest of their lives.

Nancy wastes no time to get them to the front desk. She’s asking the secretary to see her son, and, after a series of painfully long questions from a Mr. Danes, they are finally led to the room their son is being kept in. The door is just as striking as the rest of the building, and Nancy is afraid it might all fall apart at her fingertips when she turns the knob– that she’ll wake up, hot and sweaty, back home in Abrahm, her silk sheets caught around her kicking legs, and no closer to finding her son than she has been the last seven years.

“Nance, it’s okay.” her husband’s warm, brown eyes are encouraging and comforting, but she can see he wants nothing more than to rip the door off its hinges, and _finally_ find their son: bring him home. So, she wraps shaking fingers around the brass knob, and with her heart hammering in her chest, she twists.

The door creaks lightly as it’s pushed open, revealing a long, sullen, figure nestled on the bed closest to the window. Light is pouring through, and the deep, heavy breaths of the figure signify he is at rest. Nurse Léah has stepped forward, and is now next to the bed, gently shaking the figure awake. A head of pale blond hair emerges, and Nancy catches her breath. A hand is covering her gaping mouth, and before Abel can stop her, she’s sitting on the bed, looking the boy in the eyes, tears threatening to spill down her cheeks.

“Even?”

His head snaps up to look at her, really _look_ at her, for the first time in his life. Without hesitation, his long fingers are gripping her face gently, and stroking the lines which make it up. It’s oddly intimate. Intimate in a way it had never been before, and not because he could now see the face he is cradling in his palms.

“Ma?”

Abel has come closer, his own eyes swollen with unshed tears as he takes in the sight of his grown up son. The son he lost seven years ago, and had come to let go of in an attempt to spare himself the pain– something his wife never could do. The boy’s eyes have shifted to him, and he tentatively whispers:

“Dad?”

The broken and strained tone of his voice does not go unnoticed. Not by Nancy and Abel or Léah. She visibly shudders, and Abel _knows_ that she’s imagining what his son must have gone through. It makes him angry– not at her, but at whoever held his son captive: who ever tore his son apart. Yet, the tension in the room, which is thicker than a good cheesecake, is not a result of the same curiosity clouding the thoughts of Americans all over. No. It’s for a far more obvious reason. Even is looking directly at Nancy’s aged face. His eyes, which had once been lifeless and dull, are staring intently at his mother. Even could _see_.

They don't wait much longer to have him discharged, and take him home. He's writhing like a leaf, and with each step he takes, a long-held breath is exhaled. His golden hair is messy in a way Abel seldom saw, and his wrists are bonier than he remembered. Abel's forehead creased with worry. Maybe, they should have given him more time in the hospital. But, Nancy wouldn't hear anything of it. She'd already lost countless days with her son, and, now that she'd finally found him, she was more than reluctant to allow more time to pass by without him. So, Abel didn't protest when his wife demanded their son be discharged, nor did he defend the doctor when she attempted to explain why it would be better to wait a while longer.

He helped his boy into the back of their car, and covered him with the afghan they kept in the back seat, rubbing his shoulders for comfort, before slipping into the driver’s seat. He started the engine, and then, they were on their way back to Abrahm.

The town is quiet, asleep, when they first arrive. It's a relief, as the Johnson’s know what awaits them when they reach their neighbourhood of Riverbrooks. Even has been completely silent the entire ride home, and neither Abel nor Nancy have attempted to change that. The silence is comforting in a way it never was. Unlike before, the silence doesn’t signify a missing child. Instead, it is one of peace and _relief_. They still don't know what happened to their son, but at the moment, all that matters is that he's home. They're not the only ones overjoyed at his return, though.

As they reach their cul de sac, they are bombarded with an overwhelming amount of people. Many of them are holding signs with the words ‘welcome’, ‘love’, and, ‘Even’ written in a variety of combinations. They're yelling what's written on their signs, and there are also the flashes of cameras– both of the media and the neighbours. Their car is forced to come down to an agonising pace as they trudge through the crowd of excited and morbidly fascinated bodies of the people who had stayed tuned for the past seven years on whether or not Even Johnson was coming home.

Within the strict confines of the car, the blond boy who'd gone missing cowers under the judging stares and rowdy shouts. He's shaking, his heart pounds in his chest, and his hair is sticky with sweat. It's was unreal how overwhelming the experience of coming home really was. He didn't expect to be greeted as a celebrity, and the loud boom of the voices is enough to send him into a frenzy of panic and fear. Although a stark contrast from what he'd experienced for what now seemed like an eternity, it was strange and unusual, breeding a deadly concoction of anxiety, paranoia, and defensiveness. Eventually, the car rolls past the crowd and onto the Johnson driveway. Abel and Nancy brave the swarm, Nancy thanking them for their love, while Abel helps his son out of the back seat. He's still huddled in the afghan, but doesn't bother to hide his face as his father leads the way into their house.

All goes quiet for Even when the door closes behind him. Although he can still hear the crowd and the press, the sound is muffled by the thick walls now surrounding him. His bare, bruised feet wriggle their toes in the plush, familiar carpet, the same way they did eighteen years ago. The room smells the same as he remembers. Lilac and orange fill his nostrils, and he emits a shaky laugh. After all these years, he’d always imagined the scent of lilac and orange as comforting– as something that would bring him tears of joy. But, as he inhales the strong scents, all they do is remind him that he might never get back.

 

 

Her back aches as she catches her breath. Next to her, Elias is too, catching his breath. Unlike her, he’s on edge, preparing to grab his stuff and leave. On the bed, she curls into herself, holding her arms crossed and her hands at her waist in a pathetic mimic of spooning.

“You can stay, you know,” she comments in vain, hiding her face in her pillow so as to seem more detached.

Elias scoffs, then, cruelly says: “I don’t _like_ you, Sonja.” He doesn’t follow up, rather, he dresses swiftly, and then, she hears the sound of her bedroom door coming to an unceremonious close.

“Whatever.” she says, even after it’s too late. “I don’t like you, either.” her grip on her comforter softens, and she calmly walks to her ensuite bathroom to clean up the mess her now bleeding palms have made. The cold water is only soothing to Sonja initially, before it runs too cold for comfort, and her palms go numb. When she’s finished, she lightly bandages them, and slips on a pair of fingerless gloves to hide the evidence.

She falls back on her bed, her room still stained with the scent of sex, sweat, and drugs, and she doesn’t bother to spray her room with copious amounts of lilac Febreze as she typically would. Sonja emits a loud, shrill laugh, empty and hollow. Tears of frustration are now streaming down her cheeks, and it takes all her willpower not to scream. Instead, she hurls her fifth alarm clock to the farthest wall, watching with twisted satisfaction as it bursts apart, mirroring her broken heart. With a shallow sigh, she brings herself to stand up, and dresses quickly, painting her face with foundation and eyeliner, until she looks cool and composed, doing justice to the facade she upholds.

Sonja grips her army-green messenger bag, stuffing it with her stash of cash, drugs, and cigarettes, and races down the stairs where Bull is waiting for her, lazily draped over the couch, and purring as though he were a cat. He has drool dripping down his double chin, a feat Sonja always found endearing over repulsive, though she seemed to be the only one. The big bulldog nuzzles her softly as she slips on her shoes, and throws on her coat. In response, she clips his leash to his collar, and pats his big head lightly, before stomping out of the relatively nice house she lives in with her family, and slamming the door behind her, not bothering to lock it. If her parents got robbed, that was _their_ problem, not hers.

Confidently, with the menacing Bull by her side, Sonja heads towards Nissen– her Empire. Well, Nissen wasn’t so much her Empire as it was her palace. Hartvig Nissen was once an anticipated, suburban, neighbourhood. Everyone wanted to live there, once it was completed, however, a lack of funds (Abrahm is a small and insignificant town, after all) soon caused the project to fall to its knees, and remain a reminder of what the people of Abrahm could never have: ambition. Nissen is now just a cluster of unfinished houses, the biggest one being where Sonja oversees her ‘subjects’. Her Empire isn’t so much one of love and popularity, but rather, one of fear, addiction, and more fear. Because, while Sonja most certainly instilled fear in her subjects, it is outside forces which do all the hard work for her. Forces such as parents, lovers, friends, teachers. It is these which, ultimately, keep her at the top of the pyramid. Because she isn’t afraid.

Nissen is filled with young teenagers today, Sonja sees as she climbs to the top floor, where Eskild and Magnus are already waiting for her. Eskild, as always, has his nose turned up at Bull, while Magnus is giving the dog the same pair of heart eyes he shoots her way. She may not be picky in her choice of partners, but she still had standards, all of which Magnus didn’t, and never would, meet. Besides, there was Vilde to think about. The girl had paid her almost _five hundred dollars_ , just to hook up with Magnus. Sonja didn’t understand it, but she wasn’t going to say no.

“Hey,” she greets, taking her place by the window overlooking the rest of the town, Bull obediently sitting at her side.

Eskild nods in greeting, while Magnus gives her an enthusiastic ‘hi!’. They don’t bother with small talk, not anymore. Instead, Eskild gets right down to business, giving her a report of all the pot, speed, and crack he’d sold that month, badgering her about his rent money. She’s impressed– he sold all the stuff. Magnus, on the other hand, barely turned up a profit. But, a deal was a deal, and Eskild had held up his part of the bargain, so, when he gives her the money, she takes out the amount he needs for this month’s rent, and happily hands it back to him.

“Good work,” she says, not looking up from the bills she’s recounting. She knows she counted right, god, she wouldn’t be where she is now if she didn’t know how to fucking count, so her actions are more as a show of power. In the end, the one with the power was her, and she believed it was never too soon to remind people of that. Magnus has given up his earnings at this point, too, for which he receives a measly twenty-dollar bill. He’s frowning, but not complaining.              

“Well, gentlemen,” Sonja grins wickedly. “It's been a pleasure.”

She's ready to call up her next hearing, a girl called Ingrid who wanted to purchase Viagra for her ill-performing boyfriend, and it's quite obvious that Eskild and Magnus aren't exactly begging to stay in her company, but then there's a loud ruckus, and an unknown face is coming _unannounced_ into her throne room.

He's tall, extremely tall, with greasy blond hair, and dark bags under his eyes. It's Even Johnson, she realises with a start. The boy who had been missing for seven years. The boy who had been blind, but now could see.

Bull emits a low growl, to which Sonja shushes him. She turns her chin up, eyeing Even wearily.

“I need a router.”

Sonja hums in response. “Okay… but, it'll cost you,” Even looks lost at this. “Four hundred.”

The boy, no, _man_ , shakes his head. “There's no time. I need it _now_.” he sounds desperate, and for a moment, Sonja’s heart of ice thaws, but she quickly composes herself, and turns her back on the pleading man.

 _Nutter_ , she thinks bitterly.

Even doesn't seem to understand that this means their time together has come to an end, as he reaches to touch Sonja’s shoulder, his plea on the tip of his tongue. But Bull beats him to the chase, and Eskild, Magnus, and Sonja watch in awe as Even wrestles Bull to the ground. Sonja watches smugly, knowing that Even won't be able to get out of this still wanting her resources for _free_ , yet, as she continues to spectate, she sees as the tables are turned, and, eventually, it is Bull yielding, not Even.

The three stare wordlessly and agape as Even takes his leave, silently walking down the stairs like a spectre, and, had it not been for Bull cowering at Sonja’s feet, she could have tricked herself into believing it was all just a twisted figment of her wild imagination.

“Fucking Crazy.” She mutters as she soothes Bull.

 

 

He feels as though he's burning from the inside out. The dreams continue, and the need to find Isak only heightens. He's found an old video camera, which he now uses to talk to Isak. It's somehow comforting, imagining that one day Isak will see these videos, and know that he never once stopped thinking about him. That he never stopped trying to rescue him, and the others. After he'd come home from his failed attempt at gaining Internet, he'd fallen into bed, his bones aching from the fight with Sonja’s dog. He'd curled into the thick comforter, and squeezed one of his pillows tight, imagining it was Isak in his arms, instead. How many times had he fallen asleep in this exact way? Too many to count. He closed his eyes, the darkness more familiar and comforting than sight ever could be, and swallowed the hot tears at the back of his throat.

“I'm coming, Isak. I'll save you.”

When he awakens, Nancy is sat by his feet. Her tender hand is stroking his calves, and her eyes look freshly wet. She had been crying, he realises.

“Ma?” he whispers, his voice hoarse from the shaking sobs of his sleep.

“Oh, Even!” she rubs his arm, and offers a small smile. “I'm so glad you're home.” Her gaze shifts downwards, and her smile slips off. Even’s eyes follow, and come to stop at his collarbones, where a big, red, ugly mark resides. Nancy’s eyes are watering, and before he can give any words of comfort, she’s stumbled away, muttering under her breath about getting bandages.

Once she’s gone, he pulls the comforter back over his head, and brings the video camera to his face. He doesn’t have much time, Even _knows_ that. But, the urge to be with Isak is too great, and he’s now whispering sweet nothings and promises of rescue. “ _I will find you, Princess Vivian!_ ” he declares. It brings a small smile to his face, but he quickly shuts the camera when he hears Nancy’s soft footsteps approaching, and pulls himself back up to the surface.

She doesn’t say a word as she bandages the dog wounds he achieved that morning during his run in with Sonja, but her eyes are sad. It makes him feel guilty, but then he remembers Isak, and the guilt erodes.

"Even, who's Isak?" Nancy suddenly asks, her gaze meeting Even's. 

The boy looks betrayed, and his eyes widen as he asks: "You watched my videos?"

Nancy sighs. "I'm only trying to understand, but you won't talk to me,"

Even turns on his side so his back is facing her, and closes his eyes. "Please, just go."

 

 

Sonja’s day had gone just fine, so far. It was Monday, a sluggish day for most teenagers, and, although she’d never admit it, herself as well. She had made it to all her classes but one (a new record), and was now on her way home. As she walks down the sidewalk, she sees Eva Mohn walking towards her car. Sonja has always been amazed by the girl’s voice, and, earlier that day, she’d walked past the choir rehearsal just in time to hear her solo. Without thinking, Sonja runs up to catch Eva before she leaves.

“Hi,” she smiles, grinning widely.

Eva’s gaze lands on her, and she visibly winces away. “Oh, hi, Sonja,” she greets politely, but her body language is obvious enough to show she isn’t keen on being in the blond girl’s company. Sonja doesn’t notice.

“You sounded great today,” Sonja gushes.

Eva nods. “Thanks,” she says quietly. She puts in her car keys and turns, popping her door open.

“So,” continues Sonja. “You gonna, y’know, do something with it?” she doesn’t wait for Eva to respond before she continues. “Like, make records, perform–”

“I don’t want to talk to you.” Eva says bluntly.

Sonja watches her in shock, unsure of how to respond to that. “Why?” is all she can come up with.

Eva sighs. “Because, you’re rude, cruel, and call my friend, Chris, ‘dyke’ on a daily basis.” she explains, frowning. Eva turns to her car, not bothering with a goodbye, when Sonja grabs her by the hair, and slams her to the ground. She half-heartedly kicks Eva in the neck, then runs away, angrily declaring the other girl a ‘dykey bitch’.

When she arrives home, Sonja is quick to run up to her bedroom, Bull at her heels, and slams the door shut. Her mother nor her mother’s husband are home, yet, she still feels completely too vulnerable anywhere but the closed space of her room, and since the age of thirteen, it had become routine to spend her free time either alone is her room, or amongst just as ‘well-adujusted’ teenagers in Nissen. As she sits on her bed, Bull curled up and her feet, she thinks back to the threat Mrs. Magnusson had made, and then her thoughts fall back to Eva, who had looked so small down at her feet. She had to do something, and she had to do it quick.

 

 

When Sonja gets to the Johnson residence, she doesn’t bother see if the Johnson’s are home, opting instead to go to Even’s window, and see if he’s there. He is. She watches him pace back and forth around the small room, scratching at his head, and pulling at his goldilocks. She wastes no time in knocking on the window. Even startles, and she knocks again, beckoning him forward, and motioning for him to let her in. He unlocks the hinge, and slides the window up, leaving just enough space for her to squeeze through. Once inside, she doesn’t allow him to speak before she pulls out a wireless connection router, and fumbles with his old computer. He’s grinning widely at her, and says, in disbelief:

“You got me Internet!”

Sonja hums, and once she’s finished setting it up, set falls back onto his bed. “It’s all paid for,” she explains as Even fiddles around on Google. “But,” he doesn’t look at her, which annoys her. She’s speaking to him, and brought him what he was so desperate for, even after he attacked her dog. “It’s not free.” at this, he does turn to look at her. “I helped you, you help me.”

Even raises his eyebrows slightly. “I don’t have money.”

Sonja hums. “I know.” They sit in silence, until Sonja finally adds: “I need you to pretend to be my step-father.” she says at last. Even raises his eyebrows again. “Mrs. Magnusson is supposed to have a meeting today with my parents, and if they find out I’m getting expelled, they’ll send me away to Sergeant Kane’s Academy for Girls.”

Even gives her a look of sympathy, which she detests, but eventually says: “Okay. I’ll help you. But, I have conditions.” Sonja shrugs her shoulders, which Even takes as his que to continue. “I need you to find me four people, like you, who are strong and flexible. When the time comes, I’ll need the help of all of you, okay?”

Sonja laughs mockingly. “Okay, Crazy.”

Even raises his eyebrows. “Your promise?”

“I give you my word.”

 

 

The single Wal-Mart of Abrahm is seldom busy on weekdays, and Sonja and Even slip in unnoticed. They make a beeline for the men’s section, where Sonja picks out shirts and ties for Even to try on, as well as a pair of black slacks. It takes them a couple tries, but they are quick to compile a suitable outfit for his meeting with Mrs. Magnusson, which is in less than an hour. Sonja pays for the clothes, and he changes in her car. She drops him off two blocks from Abrahm High, and wishes him luck. She’d given him a quick run-down of what he’d need to know, and all that was left for her to do was to go home and watch _Narcos_ with Bull, ignoring the anxiety in her gut, and praying to God for another day in Abrahm. Because, although she always hated (and still does) this stupid town, it was one thousand times better than military school ever could be.

Even is more nervous when he steps into the public building than when he’d agreed to, essentially, commit fraud. He’s dressed so nice, he doesn’t even recognise himself– his hair slicked and styled like a blond Elvis, his cheekbones clean of any dirt, his heavy eyebags from his recent insomnia concealed with Sonja’s concealer, and his body draped with nicely fit clothes, much different from the same joggers and T-shirt he’d been wearing for the past week, or the jeans and T-shirt he'd worn over the seven years he was a prisoner. His feet are covered in a pair of stylish, yet cheap, loafers, which he silently pads across the hallway in. The school is so drab ordinarily, but when emptied of the lively students, it becomes hollow and empty. Even doesn’t like it. He comes to a halt when he reaches room 109, which Sonja had told him is Mrs. Magnusson’s, and raps his knuckles lightly against the smooth wood. He doesn’t have to wait very long, as it is soon opened with a gentle creak, revealing a young woman in her late twenties to early thirties. She has white-blond hair, cut to her shoulders, which suits her quite nicely. She’s stylish, too, with a vertically-striped collared shirt, and high-waisted black jeans. Although young, she composes herself as though she were a fifty-year old woman, and on her left hand, Even doesn’t miss the silver band on her finger.  

“Hi, Mr. Østebø,” she greets with a polite smile on her face. “My name is Noora Magnusson,” she introduces, politely sticking out her right hand to shake his own, which takes him a moment too long to compute. She grimaces slightly, and leads him into her room. She takes her seat behind her desk, and Even notices two chairs have been set out facing her. So, she’d expected Sonja’s mother _and_ father. It suddenly dawns on him that she is unaware that Sonja’s parents divorced when she was six, and her mother had remarried only a year ago. He realises she thinks he is Sonja’s father, not _step_ -father.

“I’m sorry,” speaks Even with a slight shake of his head. His eyes land on Mrs. Magnusson, and they are accusing and protective. “What exactly is this about?”

She visibly stiffens, holding her back up straighter, and her welcoming gaze has hardened. “Did you not read the email I sent to you and your wife?” her words are meant to be cutting– to paint the picture that he is a neglectful father, too lazy to read the email about the meeting he’s about to have regarding his daughter.

“No,” says Even bluntly. “My wife meant to show it to me, but, being busy with work due to the falling economy, she must’ve forgotten.”

Mrs. Magnusson has the decency to look guilty, but nevertheless, she clears her throat, and, when she speaks again, her voice is all business. “Your daughter,” she speaks her words with care and diligence. “Is a menace to this school.” There. It’s out there, and there is no taking it back. She doesn’t waste time for Even to respond, and continues: “I can tolerate self-destruction,” Even’s sick to his stomach listening to her words. “I don’t support it, but if someone won’t accept help, or doesn’t want to change, then there is nothing I can do.” She takes a breath. “However,” she is visibly agitated. “When the self-destructive behavior begins to affect others, I draw the line. Your daughter is a bully, Mr. Østebø. She infringes on the learning and growth of others, and I simply cannot have that in my school.”

Silence envelops the room, as both parties take in what has been said. Even is racking his brain, trying to understand what is happening. Sonja was going to _expelled_. That’s why she brought him here. He had to stop that from happening.

“You lost someone.” It’s not a question.

Mrs. Magnusson is visibly stricken by his comment. “I’m sorry, I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

“It must have been someone important,” continues Even, not caring for her comment. “Because, now that they’re gone, you’ve lost your passion.”

“Stop it.” demands Mrs. Magnusson. But, Even doesn’t heed her plea.

“If you were really still passionate about being a teacher, you wouldn’t push away the person who needs your help most. The happy, hard-working kid doesn’t need you anymore. It’s the struggling, hurt, and angry one, who _does_. And who better to teach, about more than maths or english, than Sonja? Who needs your help more: the kid going to Harvard, or the one heading to military school?”

Mrs. Magnusson’s eyes look contemplative, and don’t pay attention when Even checks his watch. “I really should be leaving,” he explains, and gracefully gets up from the chair. As he opens the door, though, she calls out to him one last time.

“Wait,” he turns to face her. “What’s your name?”

Even gives her a warm smile. “I’m The OA.”

 

 

Once Even gets home, he wastes no time to get into his room, where he shuts the door quietly, so as to not disturb, or, arouse suspicion. His meeting with Mrs. Magnusson, had, in his opinion, gone well. She was a good woman, Even knew. And, although she had lost her way, she would find her way back, soon. The same way he was going to find his way back to Isak. He sits at the computer which Sonja had hooked up to the wireless she had brought him, and opens Google. He types in, ‘isak near death experience’ and waits anxiously as it makes the search. The first few articles have no meaning to him, but then, a video comes up, and there’s no mistaking the blond boy in the thumbnail. He clicks instantly, and watches as the man he loves recounts his death. Tears, now freely running down his cheeks, stain the wood of his desk, and it takes every inch of willpower within him not to scream. Not to scream out for Isak, for where he is, how to find him. Not to scream out that he _will_ find him. That he didn’t leave him behind, and didn’t forget him. His hand touches the screen, and a sob wrecks his body. A knock startles him, and he quickly wipes away his tears, and composes himself.

“Even?” Nancy knocks once more, then, tentatively, opens the door. She has the phone in her hand, and seems eager for him to talk with whoever is on the other end of the line. “It’s the FBI,” she explains, and hands him the phone.

He catches his breath, then says: “Hello?”

“Hey! It was such a pain getting a hold of you,” a voice laughed on the other side. Sonja.

Even looks at his mother, who looks curious and yearning. “I think I should speak with them alone,” says Even, a slight stab of guilt edging away at him at her deflated look.

“Yes, of course,” she agrees, and turns away, shutting the door softly behind her.

When he’s alone again, Even glances at his computer screen, where a young Isak is frozen in time. His heart aches, and, completely disregarding whatever it was Sonja was saying, he cuts in. “I need five people, including you, and I need them _tonight_.” Sonja pauses, most likely to process his request, but he continues. “They need to be strong, and flexible, like you. And, they have to keep their front doors open.”

On the other side, Sonja emits a laugh. “I can’t tonight, Crazy,” she says the crude nick-name affectionately, yet, the rest of her words hold strong criticism. “I’m busy.”

Even’s desperate, at this point. “You promised,” he pleads. “Sonja, you gave me your _word_.”

“Alright,” resigns Sonja. “But, I can’t tonight.”

Even’s heart sinks. He needs them _tonight_. It’s going to take time to get them ready, and every minute that goes by is another one Isak and the others have to endure with _him_. “Sonja, _please_ ,” his voice is hoarse, and he knows she knows he’s begging at this point. Instead of giving him another excuse, Sonja simply says she’s going to try her best, and that she’s going to be late for class, and needs to go. Then, the line goes dead. Even continues to hold the landline to his ear, listening to the dead ringing, and relief floods his body.

“I’m coming, Isak.”

 

      

After her meeting with Mr. Østebø, Mrs. Magnusson was feeling as though she was ready. Finally ready to move on with her life. Because, as reluctant as she might be to admit it, Mr. Østebø had been right: she _had_ lost her way after she lost _him_. Now, as she places frozen dinners into her half-full shopping cart, she doesn’t hesitate to approach Mrs. Østebø when she sees her in the same isle.

“Hi, Mrs. Østebø,” she smiles politely.

The woman looks surprised at the interaction, but, quickly recovers. “Ms… ?”

Mrs. Magnusson’s smile falters. “ _Mrs_. Magnusson,” she corrects. “Normally, I wouldn’t do this,” explains Mrs. Magnusson. “I don’t like to speak with parents outside of the classroom, you know?” Mrs. Østebø grins politely. “I just wanted to say, I think he’s a very special man, and that he’ll really help Sonja,”

At her words, Mrs. Østebø’s grin falters. “Her boyfriend?”

Mrs. Magnusson shakes her head. “No, your husband, Sonja’s father.”

“Sonja doesn’t _have_ a father.”

Mrs. Magnusson’s expression morphs into one of confusion, just as an unfamiliar man joins the two women, and introduces himself as Mr. James Cameron, Mrs. _Cameron_ ’s husband. Mrs. Cameron explains how she just recently changed her name from her ex-husband’s name, Østebø, to Cameron– her new husband’s.

 

 

When Sonja gets home, she isn’t expecting to be ambushed by her mother and her mother’s husband. Turns out, her plan wasn’t as foolproof as she had thought. There’s a lot of yelling, and, eventually, it leads to the family of two plus one marching their way to the Johnson residence, which is just a few doors down.

“C’mon, ma! We don’t have to do this. It was my plan, my fault!” Sonja pleas, trying desperately to keep Even out of it. Mrs. Cameron ignores her, and knocks on the door. Nancy Johnson answers the door almost instantly, and before she can ask what this is all about, the Camerons are pushing their way in, Nancy Johnson muttering a clipped: “Yes, please, come in”, and Sonja trailing reluctantly behind.

Abel Johnson has made his way into the living room, where the four adults and one teenager are now situated, Mr. Cameron agitatedly recounting the _strange_ encounter he and his wife had had with Mrs. Magnusson earlier that day.

“He’s _disturbed_ , Nancy!” shouts Mrs. Cameron. “He committed _identity theft_.” she spits out bitterly.

Abel is trying to speak, to rationalise, but Nancy, who is all hot emotions, beats him to it, and says: “Even’s gone through a very traumatic experience,” in an attempt to justify her son’s actions.

Mrs. Cameron scoffed. “We have been with you through out this entire experience, and we love and support you, but he needs _help_! He’s pursuing a young girl! Nancy, what if this becomes _sexual_!”

The accusation is what makes Sonja snap. “He’s not taking advantage of me!” The four adults look at her in shock. “It was my idea, okay? He needed internet to find Isak, and in return, I asked him to go the parent-teacher, okay? I just wanted someone on my fucking side for once! And, it actually worked. Besides,” Sonja continues. “I have a boyfriend. He doesn't have any friends, I was just being a friend to him, nothing more.”

Sonja’s speech falls on deaf ears, and the adults go back to discussing Even, Mr and Mrs. Cameron still pushing to have Even committed. In the end, the Camerons leave, Sonja trailing behind, her mother telling Nancy to keep her son away from their daughter. Sonja’s heart sinks, and she feels sick to her stomach. She’s ruined another life.

                      

      

Even had heard the commotion when it first began. The yelling had escalated, and he had gone to the stairs to listen. He heard the accusation, and Sonja’s confession. Knowing he didn’t have much time, Even scrambled back to his room, searching frantically for his camera. When he gets it, he turns the camera on, and zooms in quickly on his face, until it is only his eye which is in frame.

“I need help…” he begins.

He’s anxiously bouncing his leg as he uploads the video to YouTube, and has just enough time to shut the computer off before Nancy and Abel are coming to his room.

He watches helplessly as his father removes the door from its hinges, Nancy explaining about the list of precautions the hospital had sent them– internet and phone usage should be monitored, doors kept open at all times, etcetera, etcetera.

“Please,” begs Even. “Not the camera.” He’s desperate, fear enveloping him as his only connection to Isak is taken away from him.

“Even, I know this is hard, but, it’s for the best,” says Nancy softly, then leaves with Abel, the camera in her hands, and his room left completely open and doorless.

 

 

Laying in bed, Mrs. Magnusson continues to work on her lesson plan for next week. Yet, as she works, there continues to be a nagging in the back of her mind. For some reason, she can’t get Even Johnson out of her head. Something about the words he had spoken to her continues to haunt her, which is how she finds herself on Google, typing in ‘the oa’. She finds her way to YouTube, where a video is posted titled ‘THE_OA.mov’. She hesitantly clicks, and watches as Even Johnson’s right eye comes into focus. _“I need help–_ ” she slams her laptop shut, her breath labouring as she catches it, unaware that she had been holding it.

*

Sitting at a table in Reyna Diner’s, the restaurant he works at, Jonas types away at his laptop, trying to finish the paper he had due that night at midnight, when he hears the familiar sound of a message, and stops to check it. It’s Magnus, who has sent him a link captioned with: ‘I thought you’d want 2 see this. Sonja said check him out.’. He clicks, and watches as an eye is zoomed up on. He listens as the narrator of the video speaks.

_“I need help. I need to cross a border that’s hard to define. Maybe you know what I’m talking about? Or, you don’t, but… you feel it._

*

It’s cold as Magnus makes his way to Nissen.

_Because you’ve felt other borders, like, youth and adulthood, maybe._

*

The house is completely silent, like the calm before the storm, and Even arranges his pillows to resemble him in sleep, preparing for what is to come.

_I can’t change your fate… but I can help you meet it. We begin our journey to the border tonight. Midnight. The unfinished house at the edge of Hartvig Nissen. Don’t come unless you leave your front door open._

*

Eskild watches on his bed, as the video pans to a dollhouse, its door being opened in sync with Even’s words, and something within him is telling him to do as Even instructs.

_You have to invite me in.”_

*

Even lights five candles, and sits on the afghan he brought to Nissen, waiting patiently for the five. His watch says it’s 00:20, and the hope within him is dwindling.

 

 

Sonja is drunk out of her mind. After the encounter with the Johnson’s, she knew that Sergeant Kane’s was inevitable, and decided, _fuck it_. She’d stolen a thing of vodka from her mother’s liquor cabinet, and, with her faithful Bull at her side, left to party by herself. She’s now stumbling drunkenly down the sidewalk, trying to get home to sleep off her future hangover, and it is clear Bull is tired, too. She almost misses it when a van slows down next to her, but it’s not hard for her to see who it is.

“Hey,”

Sonja laughs bitterly. “What do you want?”

Elias is giving her a pitiful look, which Sonja detests. “Get in,” he tells her. “I’ll give you a ride home.”

Sonja falters for a moment, then nods. “C’mon, boy,” she tells Bull. She opens the back door of the van, and leads Bull inside, then slams it shut, and gets into the passenger seat.

“Jesus, Sonja!” remarks Elias when she’s finally inside. “How much have you had to drink? You reek.” She shows him the almost empty bottle, making him shake his head in disgust. “You’re disgusting.”

Sonja’s heart sinks at his words. “Why don’t you like me?”

Elias doesn’t look at her, keeping his gaze focussed on the road. “Because you’re a bitch.”

She keeps silent after that, watching the road and houses through the streetlights. They’re nearing her house, when she notices a strange phenomenon. Doors, front doors, left wide open in the dead of night. _What the fuck?_ She thinks, then, remembers Even’s words. _You have to keep your front doors open_. She immediately sobers. 

“This is my house!” she shouts at Elias, who comes to a stop. She quickly gets out, forgetting the vodka, and gets Bull. She doesn’t bother to thank Elias for the ride home as she runs to the door. She stumbles for a moment with her keys, and almost drops them, but, then the door is open. She swiftly runs Bull upstairs to her room, where she closes the door, then, runs back outside, leaving the front door wide open. Elias is still parked in front, but she ignores him as she runs to Nissen. Hopefully, she isn’t too late.

 

 

Even feels crushed as he begins to blow out the candles. He’s yearning for Isak, but now, he might never find him. Three out of the five candles are blown out, when he hears rough footsteps growing louder and closer. Then, Sonja, Magnus, and, Eskild emerge out of the dark.

“Hey, Crazy, don’t blow those out just yet,” grins Sonja, as the three of them sit facing Even. There is an awkward silence, then, another person emerges from the darkness. Jonas looks around at the company, and, although dubious, takes a seat, as well. “All right, OA.” says Sonja, seeming satisfied. “Go on. We’re all here.”

But, Even is shaking his head. “No,” he protests. “We need five. I don’t count”

Sonja shoots Even a pointed look. “C’mon, just count yourself, OA!” The others are looking eager, too, but Even knows this won’t work without five. He doesn’t have time to explain, though, as they hear a fifth person. Even’s heart races, relief flooding his being, as he watches Mrs. Magnusson make herself known.

“I…” she seems unsure of what to say. “I saw your video,” she explains, and Even beckons her forward with a kind smile. She nods in thanks, and sits to his left.

“Okay,” says Even. “Now that we’re all here, we can begin.” He takes a deep breath. “I’m going to tell you a story. Please, close your eyes, and imagine you’re there, that you’re _me_.” There are confused looks shot across the room, but, they all comply, and close their eyes, awaiting whatever it is Even has in store for them. “You all want to know who I got my sight, but, the better story is how I lost it….”

**I was born Even Bech Næsheim, in Norway, 1998. My father, a wealthy man, was my whole world, after my mother died in childbirth. We lived in a beautiful manor, just outside of Oslo, and I grew up with the children of the neighbouring wealthy people. But, in those times, a percentage of the profits these families earned was _always_ given to the Mob, and my father was no exception.**

**Ever since I was a little boy, I’d had these dreams, vivid dreams, so real, they seemed realer than reality itself. I had one in particular, which I would always awaken crying from. In it, I was in an aquarium, and I couldn’t get out, I couldn’t breathe. My father always told me that they’re just dreams, and that they can’t hurt me, but, that didn’t stop them from coming and terrorising me. One day, my father took me out to the lake. It was the middle of winter, and it was frozen over. He asked me:**

**“How does one beat the cold?”**

**“The cold beats the cold.” I responded. He nodded, and plunged a shovel into the ice, effectively breaking it. He did this for a short while, until a small pool of ice water was created. He took me then, and told me to go in. I was terrified, especially after my dream. But, his kind and warm eyes reassured me I was going to be okay, so, I did as he told me. I was submerged in literally freezing water for a couple of minutes, then, my father easily lifted me out, and took me back home. After that, I was no longer afraid. But, the dreams still came.**

**I went to school with the same children I grew up around. We all took the same shuttle everyday, and we would cross a large bridge to get to Oslo, where our school was. One day, I’d had a particularly bad feeling, but decided it was nothing. I got on the shuttle, the same as everyday, and waited as all the other children were picked up. The bus was lively, and filled with happy children. But, that day, as the shuttle crossed the bridge, it was attacked. The Mob decided it needed to show the rich people what loss really was. It fell over, and we were all trapped underwater, the same as in my dream. All the children were panicking as the shuttle began to sink and fill with water. I tried to tell them that we could get out, because, we _could_ , but, they wouldn’t listen to me. I was the only one who made it out of the bus, but it had sunk so far down, I didn’t have enough breath to reach the surface, and, I died.**

The top floor of the house is filled with silence, and the five wait in anticipation for Even to continue. He closes his eyes, needing a moment to compose himself, then, continues on with his story.

**When I woke up, I was no longer on this plain of existence. The ‘room’ I was in was made up of space and stars and galaxies, and at its heart, sat an old woman, fishing. She held me in her arms, and listened as I begged to go back. She told me of how it would only be pain and suffering if I returned, but, I needed to be with my father, and, I knew I wasn’t done living, not yet. She told me it was, in the end, my choice to make, and, I didn’t hesitate. But, before I returned, she told me:**

**“I can not hold you back, but, I will take away your sight, for the road which lies ahead is too horrendous for you to have to see.”**

**When I awoke again, it was in the arms of my father. As he held me, I blinked my eyes, over and over again, but all I could see was nothing.**

**“Papa, I can’t see,” I said. “I can’t see anything at all.”**


	2. The Angel Hunter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Halla! Firstly, so sorry for how long it took me to update, I promise I am not abandoning this story!! Disclaimer: I myself am Bipolar II (still working through my diagnosis, but that is what my doctors are telling me) so, my depcition of Bipolar I is based off my own experiences with hypomania, and, research I have done. I in no way, shape, or form intend to offend anyone! Also, I am not advocating going off your meds, EVER! This is a work of FICTION. As always, please leave kudos and comments! :)
> 
> -M. L.

“ **I** ’d survived the attack,” recounts Even. “But, it had taken my friends, my _sight_ , and, ultimately, my **_freedom_ ** .”  The group listens intently as Even continues with his story. All five have become invested, feeling the pain and fear he must have felt. “My father _knew_ that as long as I stayed in Norway, I was at risk at another attempt at my life. He sent me away, to America— to a boarding school for the blind. And, for a while, my life was good. I missed my father tremendously, but I clung onto our weekly phone calls the same way a newborn would to his mother. I remember, I would set my alarm for two hours after everyone had gone to bed. I’d get my violin, and go to the phone in the spot with the best acoustics. Once there, my father would call at exactly 22:30. We spoke about everything, and nothing. But everytime, he always promised that we would be together again, soon.”

 **“** **_Even,_ ** **” my father spoke on the other end of the line. I just finished playing for him, and was now clutching onto the phone tightly, relishing in each second I could hear his voice. I missed him more than the sun missed the moon. “** **_I promise, we will be together again, soon. But, I need you to stop speaking Norwegian, okay?”_ ** **Even as he spoke the request, he did so in Norwegian.**

**“Okay, Papa,” I agreed with a heavy heart. In the end, I knew that my language was a small sacrifice, if that’s what it took for our reunion to come into place. I knew that if we were ever going to truly escape the Mob, it would mean escaping our past life in Norway, too.**

**He breathed a sigh of relief. “** **_Now, please, play for me again._ ** **”**

 **Without another word, I set the phone down, facing me, and picked up my violin. I played the one melody I’d been playing my whole life; the only melody which I didn’t discard after mastering it: my father’s favourite, because it had been my mother’s favourite. Everything would be okay, I told myself when I got back to my room, and was taken by sleep. In my heart, I knew that we would be together again, soon— that we’d both escape the Mob, and that we’d build a new, a** **_better_ ** **life, together. And, it all came crashing down in less than a minute.**

**One morning, I was called down to the office of Headmistress Aurelia. There was no way I could have prepared myself for what happened next. I walked in, and heard the voice of my maternal aunt. Her name was Helene, and she kept watch over me, at the request of my father (who payed her more money than she would ever see in her life).**

**“Even,” she spoke. Her voice was gaunt, and fear enveloped me, as my mind tried to understand what she was doing here. She pulled me close into a half-hearted hug, and I stroked her hair in return. “Oh, Even,” she took a breath. My heart hammered in my chest. “There’s been a terrible accident.” There. She finally said it. It was out there, and there was no taking it back: there was no sparing me.**

**“Even, your aunt has come to take you home,” Headmistress Aurelia had been silent the entire time, only piping up as silence took hold of the room.**

**“I don’t understand,” I said. What did she mean a ‘terrible accident’? Why did I have to go with her? Had my father finally escaped, and she was taking me to him?**

**“Your father, Even,” my aunt squeezed my hand. “He’s gone, Even. I’m so sorry—”**

**“No!” I screamed. This can’t be happening. There’s no way she’s not lying! She must be in league with the Mob! “He’s not dead! My father in not dead!” I was hysterical at this point, carefully backing away from my evil, lying, traterous aunt.**

**“Even, I’m sorry,” there it was again. The ‘I’m sorry’ with no true meaning behind it. “But, you have to go home.” the Headmistress was stern as she spoke, and I understood that, no matter how hard I tried to fight it, there was no escaping this. But, I tried anyways.**

**“I don’t have a home!” I cried. “We were going to make one, together, when he come for me.”**

**“Even,** **_unnskyld, me—_ ** **”**

**“I can’t speak Norwegian!” Had I been able to see, I would have crumbled at the look of pity she then gave me.**

**In the end, I went with her. I had no choice, and, I knew that deep down.**

 

 

 

  
  
**We arrived in a yellow taxi-cab to a small house in the suburbs. It was so different— a new setting, a new pace to get used to. I hadn’t walked with my cane for some time, and doing so felt alien to me.**

**The place stunk. Fumes of tobacco, marijuana, and other unknown substances filled my nostrils, and it took all I had not to simultaneously cough and start sobbing. My aunt introduced me to her ‘friends’, the cause of the stench, and, I didn’t miss the sarcastic laugh when one asked if I was blind, nor my aunt’s demand they be kind to me, revealing to them the lie that my father had died. This was my life now, a part of me told me. You have to accept, that, until your father comes, this is all you have.**

**For the first time in my life, my blindness felt like a prison. I was lonely, lonelier than when I was at the school. My only company were the babies, who would come and go, while I was left behind to rot.**

  
  


**Nancy Johnson was giddy. Her heart raced inside her ribcage, and her hands were clammy in Abel’s grip. They’d finally arrived, and it was all she could do to contain her excitement as her husband rang the doorbell, and they stood waiting for an answer. They didn’t have to wait long, as the door swung open, revealing a blonde woman, whose hair was perched atop her head like a nest, kept in place with an abundance of elastics and hairpins. It should have shocked Nancy— the state of disarray both the house and its tenant seemed to be in, but all she could think about was the baby girl she was about to take home with her. Abel, on the other hand, casted a dubious look at his wife, only for it to be deflected by her radiant smile. This wasn’t ideal for him, but after everything she had gone through, Abel couldn’t find it in his heart to deny her this child.**

**“Hi, please, come in!” the woman had a thick, Scandinavian accent, and beckoned them, total strangers, into her home with a broad smile.  She seemed just as eager as Nancy, only, her eagerness was for money.**

**Reluctantly, Abel stepped inside, following his wife as she followed the Scandinavian woman into the living room. It was there that they sat on a grungy couch with questionable stains, while the woman, who had introduced herself as Helene, offered them coffee and tea. They both declined. They exchanged small talk for a few moments, before handing them a picture of the baby they were about to adopt. Nancy was instantly taken, and, so was Abel. The baby, Nina, was stunning. A Russian girl, she had fine blond hair, and bright blue eyes. Yes, Abel could see this little baby growing up in their house. It was all real now. He and Nancy were really going to have a child. He glanced at Nancy, who, since the moment they got into their car, was all smiles and wide eyes. His eyes crinkled as he took in the joy his wife was feeling— such a welcome contrast to the expression on both their faces over the last two and a half years.**

**“Excuse me,” spoke Nancy. “We’ve been in the car all day, would you mind if I used your rest-room?”**

**“Oh, of course, of course!” Helene smiled kindly to Nancy. “It is upstairs to your left, you can’t miss it!”**

**Nancy smiled back gratefully, then stood up from the couch, and made her way upstairs. She just heard as Helene calmly asked her husband if he’d brought the money. It made her sick to her stomach. Despite the excitement and joy she had been feeling all day, a part of her was deeply saddened at the thought of giving up a child so easily, and only caring about the money. She was glad she’d be able to help one child, at least, out of this hostile environment.**

**Once she reached the washroom, she went about doing her business quickly, and began washing her hands. She looked at herself in the mirror. She didn’t look like a mom. She reached for the handle, and as she made to twist it open, she heard a burst of crying. Startled, Nancy froze in place, her ears keenly listening. Perhaps, she had just been imagining it. Only, she hadn’t. She heard the noise again, and quietly followed it.**

**It led her to a room, a bedroom, dimly lit and with trash strewn all over. The bed was a rumpled mess, and on the dresser were half-empty bottles of lube, and two dildos. It suddenly dawned on Nancy that Helene’s main source of income wasn’t giving away the children of mothers too young to raise them, rather, it was selling those mothers themselves to the highest bidder, night by night. She had been feeling ill before, but now, her stomach was threatening to throw up its contents of the day’s breakfast. She didn’t have the opportunity to do so, though, as she heard the sound again, much louder this time. She followed it, finally coming to a stop near the top of a flight of stairs. An attic. There was minimal light illuminating the room, but it was enough for Nancy to make out the frame of a small child, and a baby.** **_Her_ ** **baby.**

**The baby was wailing, and the child beside her was attempting to soothe her. He was gently stroking Nina’s shoulders as he made a shushing sound, telling her every nowandthen to be calm, that she was alright. Carefully, Nancy climbed the rest of the stairs, and kneeled down, so she was eye level with the boy. He had fine blond hair, the same as Nina’s would one day be. Only, his was messily combed, and had grime painting it edges. His face was dirty, too, as were his clothes and hands, and, she noticed with sadness, his bare feet.**

**“Hi,” she said softly. He didn’t respond. “What’s your name?” she was again met with silence. She gave him her warmest, most reassuring smile. “My name’s Nancy, you can talk to me,” she expected more silence, or a timid whisper, not his small hands suddenly on her face, feeling the lines of her lips, cheeks, eyes, forehead. It was then that she realised his silence was because he was** **_blind_ ** **. It made her all the more sad, that this child was most likely not getting the support he needed, and wouldn’t unless someone took him away to a better life.**

**“My name is Even,” he finally said. His voice was harder than she’d expected. More jaded than a child’s ever should be.**

**“Does you mom live here?” perhaps, she and Abel could help her to get out of the life Helene was giving her, and into one where she could provide Even with the care he needed.**

**“No. She’d dead.”**

  
  


**Back downstairs, Helene was busy counting the paper bills Abel had given to her, when she heard Nancy’s voice at the top of the stairway, along with the feet of someone else.**

**“What the hell is this?” she muttered, standing to go see what was happening. Cautiously, Abel followed her, unsure as to what his wife had gotten up to.**

**They made their way up the stairs, where Abel saw his wife and a small boy. She was speaking to him, his hand grasped tightly in hers.**

**“Do you know why I’m here?” the boy shook his head. “It’s because I’m a cancer survivor,” she began to explain, but was cut short as Helena made her presence known.**

**“Even?” she spoke with an accusatory tone.**

**“It’s okay,” spoke Nancy, quickly. “I told him he could come down,” she explained.**

**“Enough. Even, go ask Bjørg to help you with you with your homework… she says you’re behind.” Helene said sternly, cocking her eyebrow, despite knowing he couldn't see.**

**“No, please,” begged Nancy. “Can’t we take them both?”**

**At this, Abel startled. He wasn’t prepared to raise two children, and neither he nor Nancy had the funds to, either. He stammered a response, but Nancy spoke before he could get his words together.**

**“Abel, this child is** **_special_ ** **. He deserves better.” she directed her attention to Helene. “I’m sure it must be very hard…”**

**Helene had crossed her arms across her chest, but sighed in resignation. “I can’t stop you,” she spoke, her words sharp and clipped. “But, it’ll cost you.” Abel looked at Nancy, then at the photo in his hand. “You’d be better to take the baby.”**

**Abel walked up the last few stairs, and made his way to where Nancy and the boy were stood. He bent his knee, and lowered himself to be eye-level with the boy. Without a word, he took his handkerchief out of his breast pocket, and began cleaning the grime off his face. He spared a glance at Nancy, and that was it for him.**

**“We choose him.”**

 

**  
**

 

**They payed Helene, and packed the little which belonged to Even, then, with their new son in the back-seat, began making their way back home, to Abrahm. The ride home wasn't as long as the ride to Helene’s had been, and soon, they were unloading the back, and Abel was carrying Even into his new home.**

**“Even, this is your new home,” spoke Nancy softly, glee dripping off her every word. “We take our shoes off in the front,” she added, bending down to help take off the ratty-old sneakers he was wearing. They'd have to buy him a new pair tomorrow.**

**The boy did as his new mother told him, and felt the soft, plush carpet underneath his feet and between his toes. The room smelled of lilac and orange, a refreshing change from the scent of marijuana and vodka back at Helene’s. This was his home now.**

  
  


**At the beginning, everything seemed fine. Nancy and Abel had fallen in love with their new son, who in turn was slowly coming out of his shell. Every night, he read braille to Nancy, while Abel prepared the three of them hot chocolate to go with the store-bought cookies Even loved so much. Everything was finally falling into place. Then, it wasn’t.**

**One night, Nancy awoke to a sharp sound. The sound of maybe a book being knocked over… or, maybe a** **_child_ ** **being knocked over. She turned to look at Abel, to see if he'd heard it, too. Only, he wasn't there. His side of the bed was still warm, but not so much to be evidence he'd only gotten up to use the washroom or investigate. She quietly arose from the plush bed, and walked down the hallway to Even’s room. It was there that she found Abel, behind a camera, filming their son.**

**She was about to put a stop to it, but Abel gripped her tightly. “He's been doing this for the past few weeks,” he explained, as the two watched Even pack his suitcase. “I'm tapping it to show to a doctor.” Nancy’s heart broke as she watched her son pack a bag, all while muttering in Norwegian. She squeezed Abel’s hand, when suddenly, Even picked up a carefully hidden knife. That was enough for Nancy, and she broke free from her husband.**

**She rushed to Even, and grabbed his wrist, holding it tightly to avoid him getting harmed by the sharp steel.**

**“Even!” she called out, tugging to get the knife free from the boy’s grip. “Even!” he suddenly screamed, and the knife clattered to the floor as he was taken by conciseness. She held her boy tightly in her arms, cradling his body, Abel coming to wrap himself around them both.**

  
  


**It didn't take long to get a diagnosis. After the knife incident, the Johnson’s didn't wait any longer to contact their doctor, who then referred them to a psychiatrist. At age ten, Even was diagnosed with Bipolar Type I Disorder, and it was the mania which caused him to have those vivid dreams, and was the root for his psychosis— he believed that the Norwegian Mob was out to get him, and that his father hadn't died, but was in hiding.**

**“I have a few recommendations of medication for you to try,” explained Dr. Nøle.**

**Nancy was in shock. She couldn’t,** **_wouldn’t_ ** **stand for this. “He’s a** **_child_ ** **!” she exclaimed. “I’m not going to medicate him. He needs** **_love_ ** **and a stable family, and—”**

 **The doctor cut her off, and said: “I’m sure having a stable home will help him quite a bit, however, Even is** **_sick_ ** **, and he needs medication, or else, his manic episodes could cause him to become psychotic, and hurt himself or others. It’s for the best.” Nancy was silent. “I’ll go get some samples.”**

“They medicated me for _years_ ,” says Even as the others listen. “It made me feel empty, hollow, nothing… but, the dreams still came. And, what was truly incredible was that in my dreams, I could _see_.” He pauses, then continues: “I remember, I had this one, recurring dream, where I was climbing a giantess. When I reached the top, my father was there, and in hands where twenty-one candles. I knew what it meant. It was my father, telling me to meet on my twenty-first birthday. And, the giantess, surrounded by water, well… where else could it be?”

“But,” pipes up Magnus. Even’s attention turns to him completely, his eyes signalling for the blond boy to go on. “What if, you dreamed about him, ‘cause you missed him?”

Even seems to take the remark into serious consideration, but only shakes his head. “Normal dreams don’t make your nose bleed,” he explains, which seems to be enough for Magnus, who simply hums in agreement. He takes a breath, and continues his story.

“I knew what they, my dreams, meant. We were to meet on my twenty-first birthday in New York, at the Statue of Liberty. I made a plan, to go there.”

“Wait,” suddenly cuts in Jonas. “So, you just _left_?”

Sonja scoffs, sending an accusatory glance at Jonas. “Of course he didn’t just _leave_!” her gaze then lands on Even. “Right?”

For a moment, Even looks somewhat guilty. “I did.” silence envelopes the room, as the listeners take in what Even is saying. “This girl in my history class was going to Atlanta, and I convinced her to give me a ride to the state-station. There, I got on a bus to New York. I knew Nancy and Abel would never understand, which is why I didn’t tell them. I left them a note, saying I’d be back in less than a month, because that’s what I thought would happen.”

**When I got to New York, I instantly boarded a ferry to the Statue of Liberty, my heart beating anxiously in my chest. I was finally going to be with my father again, after thirteen long years. The air was fresh in my lungs, and the atmosphere was overrun with excitement and joy from those around me. I remember hearing the chatter of happy families and couples in love, as well as listening intently for the familiar footsteps as I sat on a nearby bench, taking in everything around me. Although I couldn’t see, my senses, all them, were on overload: in my mind, I imagined what my father might look like; my ears, they listened to everything around them; my whole body tingled, and my heart danced within my ribcage; my nose took in the fresh scent of freshly-cut grass, all while waiting for the familiar smell of my father’s cologne; my taste-buds jumped for joy for the hotdog I bought myself for lunch, with the little money I’d brought— enough for me to stay in New York in a crappy motel for a little under a month. And I waited. I waited, and waited, and waited. Everytime someone walked close enough, or sat next to me, my already racing heartbeat doubled, only to lessen in disappointment when I realised it wasn’t him. I stayed the whole day there, and it was only until one of the security guards told me I had to go, that I was able to bring myself and my shattered heart to leave.**

**“Excuse me, young man,” the voice was soft, warm, and kind. Even though I knew, I just** **_knew_ ** **it wasn’t my father, I couldn’t help but hope.**

**“Yes?” I responded.**

**“I’m going to have to ask you to leave, sir. The park is closing, and the last ferry is getting ready to leave.”**

**My heart fell. Oh. Right. Yet, I had to atleast try, so, I said: “I’m sorry, but, it’s my birthday, you see, and, I’m meeting someone. Perhaps you’ve seen him? He’d be about forty now, or, maybe fifty. With blond… no, gray… um…” I trailed off. Because, the sullen truth of the matter was that I had no** **_idea_ ** **what my father looked like now. “Never mind,” I said. I stood up, and reached for my cane. And, just as I was about to head for the ferry, another thought occurred to me.**

“You see,” speaks Even, a mystical wonder now clouding his voice, “there was this _plaque_ by the bench, only, there was no braille, so I couldn’t comprehend what it had written.”

**“Could you please read it to me? I’ve been wanting to know all day.”**

**He stepped a bit closer. “Sure, son,” he said. “But when I’m done, you have to go to the ferry, okay?”**

**I nodded. “Okay.”**

**He began.**

 

**_“Here, at our sea-washed, sunset gates_ **

**_shall stand a mighty woman with a torch,_ **

**_whose flame is the imprisoned lightning,_ **

**_and her name, Mother of Exiles._ **

 

**_From her beacon-hand_ **

**_glows world-wide welcome,_ **

**_her mild eyes command_ **

**_the air-bridged harbour that_ **

**_twin cities frame._ **

 

**_‘Keep ancient lands, your storied pomp!’_ **

**_cries she with silent lips._ **

 

**_‘Give me your tired, your poor,_ **

**_your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,_ **

**_the wretched refuse of your teeming shore._ **

 

**_Send these, the homeless,_ **

**_tempest-tost to me._ **

 

**_I lift my lamp beside the golden door!’”_ **

“But, I didn’t want to give up, not yet. I’d come too far to go back empty-handed and broken-hearted. If my father couldn’t see me, maybe he could _hear_ me. I devised one last plan: I would play my violin in the underground every day, until my father stepped off a train, heard our song, and would come running to find me. And, do you know? My plan worked. But it wasn’t my father who found me. It was another man. The man who would change my life.”

  
  


Nancy lays, content and relaxed, watching her husband sleep. They’d woken up earlier than usual, and, with the excess time, and the new-found relief that came when they found their son, had gotten up to certain… _activities_. Tired, Abel had fallen back to sleep, while Nancy lay beside him, watching the love of her life fondly. It is now six, and she decides she is unlikely to fall back asleep, so she might as well get a good, early start to her day. She stretches out her arms, and quickly dresses herself in comfortable yet presentable clothing. She notices that at this point, Abel, too, has awoken and gotten dressed. Deciding some natural light would be good, she pulls back the curtains, only to reveal Even. He is briskly walking back to the house, looking left and right periodically, as though he were sixteen again, and sneaking back home from a party. Only, he’s twenty-eight, and he had been _kidnapped_ for seven years, so Nancy is not going to let this go. What if he had gotten hurt, or gotten into more trouble? She quickly turns to Abel, explaining what she had seen, and rushes downstairs to meet Even at the door.

“Good morning, Even,” she speaks, her voice hard. Ever since he had come home, she’d only spoken to him in soft and warm tones, fearing that if she were to be too harsh, he would fall apart. Abel stands next to her, seeming less upset about the overall situation, and more so for the effect it’s having on his wife.

“Oh, uh… hi, Ma,” he says, his voice is careful, which only serves to fuel Nancy’s suspicions and paranoia.

“Where have you _been_ ?” demands to know Nancy. “What if you’d gotten hurt?” she suddenly looks stricken. “You weren’t with _Sonja Østebø_?”

She spits out Sonja’s name as though she were a poison slowly killing her son in an un-winnable battle. This baffles Even. Sure, Sonja is pretty, well… Sonja, but, she has  good heart, and would go on to do great things.

Deciding it’d be best to put his mother at ease, he responds: “No, Ma, I just needed some air. Is that so wrong?  I can’t go out for a walk to clear my head?”

Nancy looks taken aback. Even’s words had come out more bitter than he had originally intended. “You are taking your medication, though, right, Even?”

Even’s eyes widen. No, he’s not. He hasn’t been on medication since he had been kidnapped, and that was the one good thing which had been birthed out of the whole ordeal. And Isak. Isak is his miracle. “Yes, Ma, I’m taking my meds.”

Nancy wants to believe him. She wants to believe him so _bad_. So she does. “No more night walks.” she declares.

Even sputters. “Ma, please, I just need time to myself, to clear my head!” he protests.

Nancy’s about to cut in with an affirmation of her declaration, only, Abel cuts her off with a wave of his hand. “One hour,” Nancy turns to face him, a protests on the end of her tongue, but, he continues. “He can have one hour, okay, Nance? Let the kid cope.” There’s nothing she can say against that, and guiltily looks back at her son.

“Okay,” she agrees. “One hour.”     

  
  


“Jonas!”

Jonas had barely had enough time for two hours of sleep when he’d gotten home from listening to Even’s story. He’d come in through the open door, and crashed in his bed, taken by sleep instantaneously. But, it felt as though right when he’d closed his eyes, his siblings had begun screaming for him. Now, he’s making sure Astrid, Katrine, Nils, and Jørn are ready for school. Jørn had (finally!) taken Nils out the door, leaving him to make sure the twins got something to eat, and had all their necessary books and supplies. He’s exhausted, his eyes crinkled, with thick bags beneath them. When he’s gotten Katrine and Astrid to the door to get on their shoes, he sneaks out a packet of white powder from his pocket, and quickly pours it into a spoon. He doesn’t hesitate to snort the crushed pills Elias had given him, bending down to snort the excess which had fallen on the counter, thus not wasting any, and destroying any evidence of his illegal activity.

“Come on, let’s go!”

  
  


When he get’s to school, after walking the twins to their primary school, he’s feeling alert and excited. He sees lacrosse buddies of his, who give him empty smiles and hyper-masculine high-fives in the hallways as he picks his way through the crowd to his locker. He’s blasting Eminem, the harsh words soothing to him in his inebriated state, only to interrupt him by the familiar _pinging_ sound of a notification. It’s a snapchat from an unknown person. The person is titled ‘Empress’, and he’s not sure he knows anyone arrogant enough to make that their name on _any_ social media. Maybe it’s Ingrid, he thinks bitterly. Nevertheless, he opens the message. It’s a photo of a wreckage under a bridge. A small, black shuttle-bus is lying pathetically on it’s side, enclosed by a messy red circle. He types:

 

 ** _Jonas:_** Who are you?   

 

_**Empress:** _

Jonas stares at his shattered phone screen, his bushy eyebrows furrowing as he attempts to decipher who Empress is. He decides he doesn’t care, and then, there’s the sound of the intercom, blasting out: _Jonas Vasquez, please come to the office, Jonas Vasquez, to the office please._

He doesn’t take long to head to the office, where he meets Coach Reyes, and is ushered into his office. He takes a seat when motioned to, and listens intently as Reyes presses a button on the phone, and an unfamiliar voice comes through.

_“Hi! Mitch from Michigan State, here! Is this Jonas?”_

Reyes look at Jonas pointedly, edging him to answer.

“Uh, yeah, hi, Mitch.”

 _“We_ loved _your application, and your essay about the bees was phenomenal!”_

There’s an awkward silence, as Jonas and Reyes eye each other wearily. Jonas didn’t write about bees.

 _“Oh, no… you wrote about… capitalism! Sorry ‘bout that!”_ Mitch laughs awkwardly. _“Anyways, we looked at your GPA, your involvement in extracurricular and community service, and we’d think you’d be a perfect fit,”_ Coach Reyes is now beaming at Jonas, who is sitting on the edge of his seat, excitement overflowing his entire being. “ _and we’d like to offer you the full scholarship!_ ” The rest of the phone call consisted of the logistics of said scholarship, and Jonas felt as though he were on cloud nine. He’d done it. _He’d done it!_

  
  
  


By the time he leaves Reyes’ office, it’s lunch. He heads to the cafeteria, looking for his usual table. It’s there that he spots Sonja and Magnus sitting next to each other at one of the more _antisocial_ tables, Eskild having just joined and sitting on the other side, looking at his phone. Sonja and Magnus are on Sonja’s computer, multiple tabs open, and, even from the distance between them, Jonas can tell they’re looking up something Norwegian. It’s then that he makes the connection. He storms over, and hovers over Sonja.

“It was you who sent me the picture of the bus, wasn’t it?”

Sonja nods. “Yeah, we’re tracking her story. So far, we haven’t found much,”

“Except for the bus,” chimes in Magnus. “Which is a big deal.” Sonja nods in agreement, while Eskild silently watches the encounter. Jonas has had enough, and heads to where Mahdi and the others are sitting, when he hears Sonja ask:

“You are coming tonight, right?”

Jonas scoffs, and continues on his way. He just catches Sonja declare him to be an asshole if he doesn’t.

 

 

 

  
  
When he get’s home, all his siblings are already there, watching T.V. and eating a snack. He goes upstairs to find his mother laying in her bed, cigarette in hand, and cradling her head in her hands.

“Mama?” he whispers tentatively, not wanting to upset her.  She turns on her side, her gaze finding his, and he can instantly tell that she is _extremely_ hungover.

“Jonas, hi, baby.” she offers him a half-hearted smile. “Mama has a terrible headache,” she explains. “A terrible, terrible headache.” She turns to her other side, back now facing her son, and again cradles her head in her arms, all while emitting silent puffs of smoke from the cancer stick clutched tightly between the fingers of her left hand.

“Okay, Mama,” resigns Jonas. “I just need to tell you something. It’s important. Good news.” she grunts and shrugs her shoulders, but doesn’t turn to face him again. With a sigh, Jonas walks so that he can look her in the eye, and crouches to be on her level. “Mama, I got the scholarship. A full-ride. We won’t have to pay _anything_.”

Her eyes continue to watch him, no showing of any type of emotion. “A scholarship where?”

“Michigan State.” he beams brightly.

Her eyes narrowed. “What about Harvard?” he voice is hard and cold.

“Well, I haven’t been accepted yet, and, this is a _really_ good option! It’s close to home, so I can visit on the weekends, and you won’t have to pay a dime!”

His mother closes her eyes, and takes a puff. She blows it into her son’s face, not caring at the way he coughs it away, and how she’s contaminating her own son’s lungs. “I need to sleep.”

Jonas’ smile is gone at this point. He nods, although she’s already closed her eyes, and doesn’t witness the gesture. He’s about to leave, when her flat voice floats to him once more. “We’re out of milk. Please go get some tonight.”

 

 

  
  
Eskild is munching on his frozen yogurt, getting ready to head to Nissen for tonight’s story, when he spots Jonas exiting the local super-market. He’s carrying a jug of milk, which Eskild finds curious, but not enough so to stay away. He power-walks to Jonas, his face exhibiting a friendly smile.

“Hey,” he says. He then looks at the yogurt in his hands, and adds: “I like cold things in the cold.”

Jonas nods. “Cool.”

They walk in silence for a few paces, then Eskild says: “You’re bringing milk? That’s kind of weird.” He chuckles good naturedly at the end of his sentence.

Jonas, on the other hand, grimaces. “I’m not going.”

Silence again envelops the two, and Eskild fits the pieces in his head. “You got that scholarship, right?” Jonas nods. “And, you can’t do anything weird or illegal because of the clause.” It’s not a question, Eskild _knows_ this. He’s applied to his fair-share of scholarships, too.    

“You know your stuff.” Jonas sounds somewhat impressed. It makes Eskild flare with pride. “So,” continues Jonas, “you know why I can’t come.”

Eskild visibly deflates. He’s finished his yogurt at this point, but has lost his appetite anyways. “Aren’t you curious?” Jonas merely shakes his head, emitting a clipped ‘no’. “Why he chose _us_ ? I mean, Sonja’s messed up, Magnus is a junkie, Mrs. Magnusson is, well, you know. And I’m, well, _me_.” It’s not with self-pity or loathing that Eskild lists the last one. Rather, with subtle knowing.

“I don’t care.” says Jonas. He opens the door to his car, and gets in, setting the jug on the floor of the passenger seat. Eskild knows when a battle has been lost, and turns on his heels. Jonas watches the boy walk away, and something within him tugs. Deep down, he knows he owes this to him. To _them_. He’s not sure whether it’s his conscious or stupidity, but a force within him compels him to yell out: “Get in!”  Eskild turns, arches a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, then grins. He fits easily into Jonas’ car, and the dark-haired boy is suddenly hit with a wave of guilt for all those times he and his friends had made fun of gay, girly, flamboyant Eskild.

 

 

  
  
When they get to Nissen, they’re already ten minutes late. Mrs. Magnusson, Sonja, Magnus, OA— they’re all there. OA, as usual, is sat in the middle, the other three surrounding him, candles lighting the abandoned top-floor.

“Sorry we’re late,” says Eskild. He looks at the four, then directs his attention to Sonja. “But, if we’re gonna keep doing this, you need to stop dealing out of here.”

Sonja’s face lights up with fury. “What the hell, Eskild?”

“You just have to stop.” Eskild hesitantly looks at Jonas, then back at Sonja. She’s clearly annoyed with him, and if it weren’t already obvious, she makes it so with the spiteful words which come out of her mouth.

“Fine. But, you’re out of a job, Eskild. Find another way to pay rent.”

The room falls silent, and all eyes are on him, now. But, he holds his head high, and takes his seat with grace. Jonas sits next to him, and, soon, all eyes are averted back to Even. There’s an unspoken agreement to ignore what just went down, and Even begins his story.

“I didn’t eat, not as much as I should’ve,” he starts. “I wasn’t hungry, I didn’t get tired. I was on this mission to find my father, and nothing was going to stop me. I thought that if I cast out a beautiful net, I’d only catch beautiful things.”

**The man eased his way off the train with the rest of the crowd. He began walking in his usual direction, when a suddenly soft, and tragically beautiful melody wafted to his ears. It was heavily muffled, due to the ear-plugs he was wearing, to drown out the noise of the busy city. He took them out, holding them in his palms, and then, as though possessed, he followed the haunting music. His ears keenly listened, and he was careful which each step he took, too fearful of losing the melody to be hasty. Eventually, he came to a stop, his gaze landing on a pale-haired beauty.**

**He was cradling a violin in the crook of his chin. His eyes were closed, though not out of anxiety, rather,** **_serenity_ ** **. In his right hand he held a bow, his wrist and forearm gently dancing with the wooden instrument held in his left hand. The melody he played was stunning. The man watched the boy, his eyes wide as the song ended, and the blond began packing up. He gathered his composure, and approached the boy.**

**“It’s Norwegian, the song you just played, yes?”**

**The violinist stiffened, and the man notices the way his voice shakes as he responded: “Are you Norwegian?”**

**“Yeah, but, I was born and raised in America. Couldn’t speak a word of Norwegian to save my life!” the man jested, watching intently as the boy’s face soured. He let out a simple ‘oh’, and continued to pack his things.**

**“I’m Nikolai, but, my friends call me ‘Niko’.” he explained, stepping closer to the boy.**

**“I’m sorry, but I have to go,” the musician said, grabbing his cane, and beginning to head on his way.**

**“Wait!” cried Niko, eagerly scurrying to keep pace with the tall boy. “Your music, it’s beautiful.” the blond didn’t respond, only kept walking. “You didn’t always play like that, did you?” Niko disregarded the lack of reciprocation he was getting, and continued, “Something happened to you, didn’t it?” Once again, the boy stiffened. Bingo! “You died, and came back, didn’t you?” Finally, the boy stopped, and turned to hear him clearly, visibly stricken by the accurate accusation. Niko was giddy with joy, and the boy was perplexed.**

 

 

 

  
  
**Noise surrounded me as I sat with Niko at a busy restaurant. It was one which he clearly knew well, judging by the ease for him to take his seat and guide me. He ordered something off the menu, which quickly arrived.**

**“Here,” said Niko, taking my hand with his own. “Bring this up to your mouth, and slurp the oyster like you’re slurping sea-water.”**

**I did as he instructed, only to be met with a bizarre and unpleasant explosion on my tastebuds. I hesitantly chewed the rubbery sea-creature, though Niko had clearly noticed my grimacing, as he laughed softly, and said:**

**“It’s okay, I hated my first one, too.” He laughed lightly again, and I smiled, feeling a warm comfort in his presence. “Waiter!” he called out. “Can we get an order of fries, please?” I smiled gratefully, my heart beating a mile a minute. Niko was** **_charming_ ** **, and his voice was like the smooth lull of waves, and I was the rocky beach they were crashing into.**

**A plate was set next to me, and I felt a shock of electricity run through my veins as Niko gripped my  hand with ease, and smashed it right into the large pile of fries.**

**“There’s ketchup on your right, and mustard on your left.” I could hear the smile in his voice, and found the corner of my lips curling upwards even more, as if that were possible.**

“Niko made me feel incredible feelings. But, the thing is, he didn’t actually. All he did was remind me what it meant to even _feel_ , and, those feelings of joy, happiness, and god knows what else were fleeting, as they tend to be when I’m manic.” explains Even. There’s a flash of anger in his clear eyes. Only Sonja notices. “He made me laugh,” he reminisces. “I remember, so clearly, maybe most clearly, when he eagerly showed me his soul.”

**“Hey, uh, this might be kind of strange, but, I want to show you something.”**

**We’d been talking for hours. I learned about how he detested school, yet stayed in it for much longer than someone who truly disliked school would. He told me about how he wanted answers to the unknown. His questions had my mind racing, the mania that, deep down, I knew was already at it’s peak, clouding all my judgements. In this moment, the world consisted only of Niko and Even.**

**I nodded eagerly. “Yeah, okay.** **_Show me_ ** **.”**

 **I heard a light shuffling as he sifted through his bag, then the sound of connections being made. His hands touched my face gently, and, for a brief moment in time, I thought he would kiss me. He didn’t. Instead, he gently place big, puffy cushions over my ears— headphones. Then, I heard a rhythmic pounding. It came from every direction. Some were faster than others, some harder and louder, some soft and slow.**

**“Heartbeats.”**

**“Yes, you’re right!” he sounded so overjoyed.**

**We spent several minutes listening to the sweet lullaby, passing his homemade devise back and forth as he explained to me how he came about the idea, how much time it took to execute it. Somehow, the conversation turned to his passion to know what’s on the other side. He told me about how he was so excited to have met me, wanting to know all about what I’d experienced. I was enraptured. But, I was also grieving. I knew my father wasn't coming for me, it was just a matter of accepting it. My mania overwhelmed me, and I decided,** **_fuck it_ ** **. If he doesn’t want me, at least, another man** **_does_ ** **.**

**“Study me.”**

**“Even—”**

**“Please, Niko, I have no where else to go, and, I want to help you,”**

**He was quiet, mulling over the idea, and finally said: “Okay.”**

“He took me to a plane. That’s how he got around, a _plane_. I felt like I was a bird, as the wind hit my face, and I continued to listen to Niko narrate the sights he was experiencing. I was shaking with anxiety, giddy for my new life with this beautiful man. ‘It can’t get any better than this, Even’, I’d told myself. And, I was right. We entered his home, and I was overwhelmed with the scent of pine and wood. A cabin, I realised, as my fingers familiarised themselves with the walls of my new home.”

**“You might want to call your family,” he said, as his gentle hands lead me to where his landline was.**

**“Oh, yeah, thanks.” I hesitated, but nonetheless, decided it was best to reach out to my parents. It’d been a little over a month, and I hadn’t contacted them since I left. The phone rang, and rang, and rang… and rang, and rang… and rang. I was beginning to grow frustrated, when I heard the sound of smooth jazz filling the room. I decided they didn’t matter right now, and hung up before the phone had even stopped dialing.**

**“They’re not home,” I said. Niko walked closer to me, and his long fingers gently touched my arm.**

**“It’s late, and, you must be tired.” the song of his voice sounded slightly, barely, diminished, and, had I been in a typical, functioning state of mind, I would have known instantly. But, I wasn’t, and didn’t pick up on any of the clues which had been thrown into my hands, and smeared across my face.  “I’ll take you to your room.”**

**He lead me to a creaking door, “Watch your step, we’re going down a stairway,”, and, down into the the rabbit hole we went. It was somehow fresher there, and I didn’t miss the sound of running water.**

**“Is that…”**

**“Yes,” Niko chuckled. “I built this basement myself, and decided to leave the stream.” we walked a few more paces, then, I heard another door opening. “Right this way,” he said. He led me to a bed, and I sat down. “Good night, Even.”**

**“Goodnight, Niko,”**

**He footstep grew lighter, and, just as I was about to lay and prepare to sleep, I heard a loud, harsh clicking sound. It was a lock. Panic began to build within me, and I shot up. I carefully walked, trying to find the wall only to touch** **_glass_ ** **. “Niko?” I felt around my room, panic growing and growing as I realised how small my room was. “Niko!” I’d gone all the way to the door, only to realise there was no doorknob, but a thick lock in its place. This wasn’t a guest room. This wasn’t even a room.** **_It was a cage_ ** **.**

**I slid to the ground, ugly sobs curdling in the back of my throat. I cradled my head in my hands, calling out his name every few seconds.**

**“Okay,” came a voice suddenly out of the darkness. I stiffened, my ears keenly listening. That wasn’t NIko. “I’m gonna talk you through this. You’re probably thinking ‘this isn’t real’ or ‘this can’t be happening to me!’, well, it it is. And, once you’ve calmed down, you’re going to realise that there is no one to blame but** **_yourself_ ** **for being in the place you are right now.”**

**Another voice then emerged, this one softer.**

**“Your thoughts are gonna try to take you down.” his voice was jaded, the same as the first one, yet, there was something different about the way he spoke. “Don’t let them. You’ll find your freedom, in sleep: in your dreams. It’s how we stay sane.” he paused, then said: “What’s your name?”**

**“Even.” I breathed, barely above a whisper.**

**“Even.” he repeats, and my name on his tongue is the most beautiful thing I have ever witnessed, and, for a moment, takes me away from the bitter truth of reality. “My name, is….”**

“… Isak.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I worked really hard to make sure there are no mistakes, but I am human, so, please let me know if there are any by commenting! | In this story, Niko and William are NOT related in any way, shape, or form: they never met, aren't siblings, and have no relation whatsoever in this AU. Niko and Noora also have no relation whatsoever.


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